


Imbalance

by Gildaurel



Category: LACKEY Mercedes - Works, Valdemar Series - Mercedes Lackey
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-18
Updated: 2021-03-11
Packaged: 2021-03-14 09:20:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,948
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29540184
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Gildaurel/pseuds/Gildaurel
Summary: This is an AU set about 2 years after another AU, "An Unusual Situation," in which Stefen gets into A LOT of trouble & Vanyel sponsors him into Bardic after a trial. Stefen is now in trouble again, and Vanyel is not very sympathetic...Stefen's POV/ extra frigid Vanyel.
Relationships: Vanyel Ashkevron/Stefen
Comments: 23
Kudos: 14





	1. Chapter 1

Meeting with his sponsor was always a sort of...thing. 

First, there was the unholy hour: he was treated to either a pre-dawn, post-sparring session, with naught but a warm roll and side of unwanted advice to chew on, or he had the pleasure of a “dinner” two candlemarks past his bedtime and long past any normal human’s true dining hour.

Second, there was the oddly detached conversation, as if he were speaking to an animated piece of fatherly-seeming wood rather than a living, breathing mind. He’d recently begun, with his newly acquired knowledge of Heralds and Companions, to suspect that the man’s mind was genuinely elsewhere, and that he was left holding the strings of a pseudo conversation. 

Finally, there was the discomfiting feeling of someone actually caring. Despite the coldness of his demeanor and the oddness of his hours, the noble hero Herald-Mage Vanyel Ashkevron still seemed to express genuine concern as to whether his impoverished, orphaned wretch of a ward would become an upstanding representative of the realm.  _ How bizarre. _

Today’s monthly meeting was the first variety time-wise; dawn was barely inching its way through the Palace window at the end of the hall, and he hesitated before knocking once, twice.  _ He usually opens the door under my hand. I’d hate to wake the man who never sleeps.  _ He knew that wasn’t the only reason he was loath to knock.  _ He’ll ask me if I’ve had any trouble. _

And he had, through no true fault of his own, for the first time in the year since his fateful trial that had brought him to Bardic in the first place.  _ Not that he would understand. He’s so... _ chaste. Chaste was definitely the word, and Havens knew the man could not possibly be  _ shaych _ , for Stefen was sure he would’ve heard at least one rumor to tarnish that flawless reputation.  _ So I’ll be doubly judged, if he’s as much of a traditionalist prude as he looks. _ Maybe he could avoid telling him, but. Breda undoubtedly would, and he wouldn’t risk his sponsorship for a “romance” turned sour.  _ Romance, my ass. We both knew what we wanted, and would’ve had it if not for Johnni’s nosy mother.  _

He sighed as he knocked again more forcefully, nerves making his rapping stronger than it should’ve been. A muffled curse inside, and the door opened on--

_ Oh. _ A disheveled Herald-mage? A...sweat-streaked Herald Vanyel? It was hard to find the words, when his mind had stopped functioning.  _ I’ve never seen him in aught but formal Whites. I’ve never-- _ looked  _ at him as a, a man. _

But this Vanyel was quite obviously a man; he was clad in a casual shirt and light breeches, the shirt half-soaked with sweat and clinging to a sculpted chest. His hair was tied, but strands were escaping onto his flushed forehead and cheeks; his feet were bare and his breeches clumsily laced.  _ Oh dear Gods, how did I never notice that body before? _ And the voice of reason:  _ Because he’s  _ your  _ sponsor, you fool, and thinks of you as a slightly addled child. _

“I’m very sorry, Stefen.” His voice  _ was _ regretful, deep and melodic as always, but somehow less detached. “I was sparring with Tran-- sorry, Herald Tantras-- and I must confess, I nearly forgot the day till you knocked on the door. I know I’m in a bit of a state.” He ducked his head in such a shockingly  _ human _ way that Stefen nearly caught his breath.

“It’s fine,” he managed, slipping past him to sit at the table. “We can make this quick.”

And something, damn it all, something must have slipped into his tone because Vanyel looked at him sharply, his charming disarray turning to that cold public persona. “Did something happen?”

“No...well. Nothing bad.”

“Don’t hedge, Stefen.” Vanyel’s frown deepened. “You know the rules--”

“Yes, I know your rules, Herald Vanyel.” He’d tried to keep from snapping, and he had succeeded, hadn’t he? Or not, judging from the narrowed eyes boring into his. He sighed. “It’s more of a personal problem-- nothing to do with my marks or my behavior.”

“A personal problem?” The Herald lowered himself gracefully into the other chair, eyes never leaving Stefen’s. His shirt gaped a bit as he leaned forward, and Stefen bit his lip.  _ Is every part of him perfect? _ He’d known that objectively before, but now something felt more personal. Especially with those lovely eyes staring straight into his.  _ No chance at all, though. I bet he would have had a wife tucked away somewhere if he hadn’t been a Herald; a nice, noble girl who did and said all the right things just like he does.  _

“I...may have inadvertently offended a noblewoman. Lady Rania. She found me in a, um, compromising position, with her...” He gestured vaguely, and Vanyel’s eyes widened in understanding.

“Lady Rania.” Vanyel paused. “But she only has a son--”

“Right.” Stefen flushed, hands fumbling under the table.  _ I’ve never been embarrassed by it before, damn it, and you won’t shove your foolish Church-bought morality on me either. You’re a Herald, you shouldn’t judge for this-- _

But his racing thoughts stopped as he realized that Vanyel did not, in fact, seem to be judging, but rather to be staring at him in confusion. “Stefen, are you--”

“I’m  _ shaych _ . Is that a problem?”

Now Vanyel’s cheeks were flushed a dark red. “Why on earth would I think that was a problem?”

“Because you’re, you’re you. You’re perfect and upstanding and would never walk out with a hair out of place! You probably read scripture with breakfast.” 

Vanyel’s eyebrows had raised incrementally with each statement and he was staring at Stefen in what seemed to be utter disbelief. “Is that what you think of me?”   


_ Too late not to cross a line now. Why can I never keep my mouth shut? _ “That’s what everyone thinks of you.”

A startled half-laugh, and Vanyel was shaking his head, his expression achingly human again. “Dear gods, Stefen, no. I can’t believe you didn’t know--heard no rumors--” 

Then he paused and visibly collected himself. “Never mind.  _ Shaych  _ or not, you should be more careful. You know how these nobles are about their precious, spotless children- and you know the Court’s prejudices. You could be sued! I can’t protect you from everything, you know.”

“I don’t expect you to,” Stefen muttered.

“What was that?” Vanyel’s tone was sharp, his eyes hard. “You have _ no idea _ , Stefen. You wouldn’t have been allowed the slightest margin of error if I hadn’t spoken for you, countless times.”

“So I’m supposed to be grateful that you got me almost the same fair hand as everyone else when the cards were already stacked against me?” His voice rose, sounding even more youth-like, but he couldn’t bring himself to care. “And now it’s the same horseshit again. Lady Rania would not have cared in the slightest had it been a female apprentice her son was cavorting with.”

Vanyel sighed, some of the coldness slipping from his face, his loveliness half a distraction from his condescending tone. “Stefen, I don’t make the rules. I only ask that you attempt to follow them, for your own sake. Or at the very least, that you don’t flaunt them. Now I’ll see what I can do about Lady Rania...but I’m a busy man. I can’t run after you, cleaning up these messes, attempting to placate disgruntled noblewomen.”

“Yes, sir,” he clipped out, with a little half bow. “I’ll take my leave, then, milord, if I may?” He began backing out slowly. “Shall I make certain I don’t show my back to you?”

He took his sponsor’s irritated silence and mild scowl as evidence that he likely did not need to obey the ancient rules of Court hierarchy.

He did so anyways, if only to watch that scowl deepen ever so slightly. 

  
  
  



	2. Chapter 2

The Council meeting had run over with naught accomplished, her nephew had dark circles forming under his eyes again, and he was eyeing his dinner with about as much interest as he would one of the Lords’ over perfumed and overfed wives. Savil raised an eyebrow.

“What?” Vanyel prodded his dinner again with a reluctant fork, raising a more elegant eyebrow in response. 

“Hm.” She favored him with a knowing glance before stabbing her own venison with enthusiasm. “You never eat when something’s eating at you.”

“How clever,” he muttered. He cut a small and deliberate bite, chewed it slowly, and swallowed. “Do you think...never mind.”

Half-finished sentences were her nemesis. “Gods, was Council so very horrendous tonight? I’ve seen it render you irritable, but never so agitated.” Even his hands were twitching ever so slightly.

“It’s not Council.” He sighed and pushed the plate away. “It’s...do you recall the apprentice I sponsored?”

“In Bardic? The pickpocket?” She recalled her own disbelief that he’d wanted to take on yet another responsibility, a seemingly burdensome and ungrateful one to boot.

“Yes, the pickpocket. Stefen. He has a name--”

“Yes, yes, everyone has a name. You’ll recall I’m not particularly gifted with remembering them.” She waited another moment before her impatience got the better of her. “Well? Spit it out, then. Did he steal some brat’s fat purse?”

“No...he just. He said some things to me--” He stopped abruptly, set down his fork, and stood up. “Did you know there’s a rumor that I’m so devoted to the gods I would never…?” 

Savil choked back a laugh. “I may have heard it. You mean you hadn’t?” 

“No, Savil, I hadn’t!” He threw his hands into the air. “It doesn’t matter anyways, it’s just that Stefen, well.”

“What? He heard the rumor? Why does it matter?”

Vanyel sighed and dropped back into the chair. “He’s  _ shaych _ , Savil. He was caught with Lady Rania’s son a few nights back. I’ll have to...make it go away somehow.”

“Lady Rania’s son? Huh! The one who’s all muscles? I wouldn’t have thought.” She rubbed her chin thoughtfully. “I’m sure she’s not pleased.” 

“Well, apparently, she isn’t, according to Stefen. And he was afraid to tell me about their little escapade because  _ he _ thought  _ I _ read scripture at breakfast.”

Savil failed to see the problem. “Isn’t that to your benefit?”

“How so?”

“Van, a boy his age-- a man who looks like you--” she gestured vaguely. Did she really have to spell it out for him? 

“Savil!” He exclaimed, horrified. “I’m his sponsor!”

She rolled her eyes. “No wonder he thinks you dine with holy books.” 

He frowned and she slipped into Mindspeech, hoping she’d find better footing.

:I’m sorry,  _ ke’chara _ , I shouldn’t tease. Does it bother you so much?:

:I just don’t like that I’d make another  _ shaych _ man feel... judged. Unworthy. I feel as if I should have done or said something to...I don’t know. Make it easier on them.:

Savil sighed. :I’m not sure it’s in your nature, love. It’s not as if you’ve tried to hide--:

:What is there to hide?: And the naked bitterness in his tone took her aback. 

She cut the connection and rose to set a comforting hand on his shoulder. “Van...you could, I don't know, find a friend. Even if only for a bit...”

He leaned into the touch for a moment and closed his eyes. “It never works, Savil. It only makes everything worse.” He gave a short, bitter laugh. “Maybe I should read a holy book. I’ve heard it offers comfort to the comfortless.”

Letting her hand slip off his shoulder, she offered him a wry smile. “Maybe you should offer one to Stefen. I’ve heard it does wonders for wayward apprentices.”

His laugh was more genuine this time. “Not this one. I’m not sure he even thinks there is a right way.”


	3. Chapter Three

Stefen shoved his books back into some semblance of a neat pile, dumped them into his satchel, and sped out of class with hardly a backward look for Bard Chadran and his “Condensed History of Valdemar.” The man could  _ talk _ , and talk, and talk some more...all without seeming to feel the need to change his tone or expression. Besides which, Stefen remembered him from the trial, and that always made him feel an uncomfortable mix of thankfulness and rage.  _ Because he talks a pretty picture about Heralds and the goodness of Valdemar, but hells if I ever saw one set foot in the slums of Twin Rivers.  _

In fact, the first one he ever  _ had _ seen was the one currently troubling him in more ways than one: his esteemed sponsor, Protector of the Realm, First Herald-Mage, Demonsbane, and general human ice sculpture, Lord Vanyel Ashkevron.  _ Except not such an ice sculpture in your mind now, hmm? _

Stefen scoffed at his own ridiculous thought, but his mind told truth: he hadn’t easily forgotten the very human-like man with his out-of-breath, half-dressed greeting. A week later, and he hadn’t even had an amorous thought to spare for any of his yearmates or feckless Court nobles. His mind simply reshaped whatever face he attempted to appreciate into a finely sculpted one with piercing eyes, cheekbones that were too damned high, and full lips... _ Gods be damned, Stefen, get your mind  _ off _ of him. _

Well, if he had a week to lose pining over his unreachable sponsor’s absurd good looks, this was the one: he’d hardly have been able to make it to his usual tavern or any other haunts with the evening service chores Breda had set upon him to “atone for his errors.” 

_ “You’re awfully lucky, boy,” she’d told him, shaking her head and glaring at him. “Herald Vanyel managed to convince Lady Rania not to press charges, but it was a near thing.” She’d paused to wag her finger. “If you can’t keep your nights constructively occupied, I will.” _

So now, after yawning through two interminable hours of Chadran’s historically irrelevant tangents, he had to report to duty. He paused at the intersection of two hallways, wondering if he had time enough to drop his books off in his quarters. The sideways slant of the sun through the corridor windows implied that he most certainly did not, so he shouldered the slipping satchel with another sigh and hurried toward the dimly lit suite at the end of the other hall.

The door was ajar, but he raised his hand to tap gently on it anyways.  _ Breda’s not the sort you take liberties with _ . It opened before he could, and he raised his eyes to meet startled silver ones. 

_ Oh- oh, no, not you, I’ll never sleep tonight- _ and the way his sponsor’s mouth opened softly to gasp, the glint of late afternoon light across the fine bones of his face, the hint of muscle shifting under his close-fitting whites...how could he help but imagine what the man might look like without them?

Their hands brushed just as the image rose unbidden and delicious in his mind, and Vanyel drew his back as if burned, stepping sharply away from the doorway. “Stef-Stefen,” he stuttered, his usual graciously formal tone absent. “What--”

“Herald Vanyel,” he returned, recovering his own poise more quickly. He inclined his head respectfully, willing the absurd images out of it.

“Come in, come in,” Breda called from the shadows at the back, sharp impatience in her tone. “You’re almost too late to be of any help, as usual. Stay, Vanyel-- I’ll have called you here for good reason after all.”

He stifled his urge to mutter that he’d come directly, his curiosity- and more than that- piqued enough to ignore pride. “Yes, Bard Breda.”

Stepping further into the room, he distanced himself from the distracting object of his recent midnight fantasies- sparing a brief glance to notice that he had, of course, recovered a face of completely impassive formality- and moved close enough to make out her face in the half-darkness. She looked sharp, alert, a hint of a smile lifting the lines of her face.

“You won’t be helping me tonight, boy,” she said. “I have another constructive use for your time.” Her smile widened. “You’ll be helping your sponsor.”

From the doorway, Herald Vanyel straightened. “Breda-”

“Please, Vanyel.” Stefen tried not to let his eyes widen at the casual way she interrupted him. “He’s more than capable, despite his rather idiotic...transgressions. And he knows far more than I do.”

His sponsor said nothing, simply stared past him. Stefen looked from him to Breda, raising his hands in confusion. “About what?”

“About the King’s new project. You should be interested- it’s to do with Twin Rivers. Herald Vanyel will tell you more- I’m assigning you to his office for your nightly atonement.” She paused and shot the Herald a glance. “You’ll appreciate his street smarts, Van, Havens know you and Randale could use them.”

His sponsor muttered something under his breath in a  _ completely _ undignified and non-Herald Vanyel-like way, and Stefen attempted to recover his equilibrium.  _ I-what-I’m being  _ assigned _ to him tonight? Because Breda thinks I can help him and the King? Has she completely lost it? _ If she didn’t look so bright-eyed and sane, he might have been convinced she had.  _ And she’s mocking the Firelord? And he’s-just-standing there? Like a person? A very, ridiculously, absurdly handsome person that I am now assigned to for tonight? _

Well, he certainly wasn’t going to look a gift horse in the mouth. “I’d be more than pleased to help, Herald Vanyel,” he said smoothly. 

He was most proud of how he managed to school his features into absolute calm while his sponsor’s mouth opened and closed silently.

_ Oh, dear gods, the things I would do with that mouth. _


End file.
